


A Day is Long

by werepope (quiteparadise)



Series: 2014 Advent Calendar for a Filthy-Minded Athiest [12]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiteparadise/pseuds/werepope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being thirteen and loving like only Neruda can understand.</p><p> </p><p>Advent calendar challenge: Flu.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day is Long

Liam's been out sick for two days. Zayn feels untethered without him, and even at thirteen he knows that's probably a symptom of codependency – something a lot worse to suffer from than the flu. Zayn is five months into his vow to read nothing but non-fiction for a year. He knows about these things.

He goes to Liam's after school instead of his own. He half expects Karen to be there, to have called into work to look after Liam, because she's careful with him and his bum kidney, but the house is quiet. He thumps his book bag down beside the door, toes off his trainers, and takes the stairs at his usual thumping run. He's still too short to take them two at a time but he thinks he'll hit his growth spurt any day now. He's already nearly an inch taller than Liam, the benefit of that crucial half a year age difference, he's sure.

Liam's door is closed but Zayn doesn't bother knocking, just presses his ear against the crack in the door before peeking in.

Liam is asleep half swaddled in a mess of blankets, like he's bundled himself up and shoved the covers down. The room smells faintly of sweat and unwashed laundry and that cologne Liam's started wearing, an underlaying whiff of dark chocolate and dirt. Zayn sort of wants to roll around in it.

He takes off his blazer before crawling onto the mattress. He kneels in the narrow space between Liam's body and the edge. Liam still has a twin bed that he's getting too big for. If he lays face down with his head on the pillow, he can hook his feet over the edge of the mattress. He's sort of curled up now, though. Zayn puts one hand on the tangle of covers and can feel his legs, his bent knees.

"Liam," he says, soft because he doesn't want to wake him, but not too softly, because he doesn't want to go home yet and he doesn't want to just sit here staring at him like a creeper. "I brought your homework."

Liam makes a stuffed up, sleepy noise and tries to roll over onto his stomach. His hair's all matted up at the back of his head, so that it looks even curlier than usual. Zayn touches him there, too, and feels the slick of cooling sweat.

Zayn crawls over him to lay on his side in the narrow gap between Liam and the wall. He's careful not to knee him, but Liam wakes up anyway. Zayn smiles at him. "Hey."

Liam grunts and just blinks at him for a few seconds, like he's trying to make his eyes work. Or like he's trying to make what his eyes see make sense. Zayn's pretty sure that's the same thing though. Perception and all that.

"You shouldn't be here," Liam says. It's half mumbled, kind of scratchy. It sounds like it hurts to talk. Zayn should have brought him a glass of water or a cup of tea.

He shrugs. "I don't mind." He uses his palm to brush Liam's wild hair back off of his forehead. He doesn't know if Liam feels feverish or not, just that he feels damp and looks pretty miserable. "I missed you."

Liam smiles at him in a tired way that Zayn understands bone deep. He pulls at the blanket until he can get his hand inside and find Liam's hand. He isn't an expert but he thinks that the way his fingers fit between Liam's is the kind of thing people write poetry about. Poetry counts as non-fiction.

"What if you get sick?" Liam asks, and Zayn shrugs again. He scoots in far enough to share the pillow.

"Then you'll come round mine and hold my hand and tell me how much you love me."

Liam laughs, soft and wheezy, but it turns into quiet coughing. He lays silent with his eyes closed for a long moment after, as if recovering. Zayn really should have brought him a cup of tea. He squeezes his hand when Liam's eyes flutter open again.

"You haven't," Liam says. He sound scratchier than ever.

"Haven't what?" Zayn crawls back over him to get him some water, taking Liam's hand with him, so that Liam has to roll over, laughing, before he can pull his hand free.

"Told me how much you love me."

Zayn winks at him. He takes the stairs down two at a time just fine, bracing one hand on the wall and the other on the banister. He grabs his bookbag on the way back from the kitchen, and has to be slow and careful as he goes up, to keep the water from spilling.

Back in the bed, Liam drinking slow and careful, Zayn opens a book and reads: "I do not love you except because I love you..."

Poetry totally counts.


End file.
